


Tired

by PrettyWhizzer (NargleAdvocate)



Series: Falsettos Character Study [6]
Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Angst, Broken Promises, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Coping, Drabble, Grief/Mourning, HIV/AIDS, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Jason is kind of a bad child but he's somewhat trying, M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Whizzer and Jason were v close
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 08:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13232322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NargleAdvocate/pseuds/PrettyWhizzer
Summary: "Just- promise me. Please. I can't- I can't do this again."Jason grieves over- and doesn't cope with- Whizzer's death.





	Tired

He could hear his dad crying, and it was _wrong_ , it felt wrong to his ears, because his dad didn't cry, not even when he divorced his mom, it was always angry, pitched voices and narrowed eyes, never _crying_. But there were the echoing sobs, heaving through his dad's throat, and Jason was irrationally angry at the sound, or maybe rationally, considering the circumstances. He stared at Whizzer's grave, and wished for time to stop, because he felt more tired than he ever had before. And it brought to mind the times when Whizzer wasn't talking to his dad, when Jason would slip out after school and walk to his apartment and talk, and talk, but sometimes Whizzer would say he was "tired" at three in the afternoon, and it had never occurred to Jason that maybe it was something akin to what he was feeling in that moment. Exhaustion of more than just the body.

He gripped the chess piece tightly in his hand and placed it on top of Whizzer's grave, simultaneously shoving everything that made him want to echo his the sounds his dad was making, and let the tiredness envelope him.

A part of Jason had thought it would stop after the funeral. That everyone would stop feeling sad, and everyone would go back to pretending that nothing happened, because they were good at that. Another part of him reminded himself that it would be unfair to Whizzer to do that, and that Jason didn't really want to forget Whizzer anytime soon, and he would have probably been even more upset if everyone pretended things were fine, because they _weren't_.

A few people at school, the ones he had vaguely thought of inviting to his bar mitzvah, asked him how it went. He didn't answer them. He couldn't bring himself to come up with some sort of lie about how wonderful and amazing it was when Whizzer passed away during it. There wasn't any redemption for it after that.

Dealing with his mom was difficult. She seemed inconsolable; not that Jason had tried. Her eyes were red-rimmed more often than not. It sometimes baffled Jason; wasn't she the one that had disliked Whizzer, found him annoying and despised him for taking his dad? It made Jason angry, too, because even she could cry, and all Jason was left with was an empty exhaustion that made him want to stay in bed all day.

There were days that he did. Mendel tried to get him out sometimes. Sometimes no one came in the room. It was all the same. None of them would be Whizzer, sauntering in with a grin and exciting plans about photography or cooking or something equally trivial. Or sometimes he'd pull Jason out of bed and insist they play baseball; those were the best days, the ones spent out in the beating sun with Whizzer getting exasperated every time Jason missed a ball. It used to make him laugh. Now he stared blankly at a wall.

His mother knocked at his door. Her voice sounded scratchy. She had been crying again. "Jason, honey, you need to get up for school."

Going to school sounded like the last thing he wanted to do. He pushed himself further under his comforter and ignored her further knocking. Eventually it went away. They'd say he was coping; he'd say he was tired.

Every time he looked at his mom or step-dad he could tell they were tired with him. It was the way their eyes shifted whenever he entered a room, or their hunched shoulders, or their furrowed eyebrows of confusion at everything Jason did. He wanted to scream at them to _stop_. He knew, though, that it wouldn't help a thing. He was a smarter kid than they thought.

The only person who didn't- hadn't doubted how smart he was, was Whizzer.

"Jason, buddy, we need to talk."

It was an intervention, Jason guessed, as Mendel initiated the conversation at the diner table. His mom and Mendel had their concerned faces on, as if they cared, or understood. Jason moved his food around his plate with his fork and didn't respond.

His mom took that as a queue to keep talking. "It's just, we're worried about you, sweetheart. You need to talk about what happened. You're hardly eating, you haven't gone to school the past three days, and we're both really worried about you."

Jason wanted to laugh, or cry, or maybe scream. Worried. Right. He picked up his plate and stood up from the table, moving to the kitchen to wash it off out of habit.

They followed him. Mendel spoke first, "Jason, please-"

His mom continued. "I know you were- closer, to Whizzer, than a lot of us, but-"

"I want to go to dad's." Jason blinked a few times after his own words. He hadn't expected to say that.

They looked even more concerned than before. His mom stepped forward. "Honey, are you sure that is a good idea? Your dad isn't in the best shape, and I don't know-"

"I want to go to his house," Jason said again, more firm than before. He needed to.

Mendel and his mom exchanged a few looks. Jason wanted to remind them that he was still in the room. He didn't. Mendel replied, "Only for a weekend."

"This weekend."

Mendel nodded. "Okay."

Jason nodded back before padding out of the kitchen, hands shoved into his pockets and shoulders hunched. Once he reached his room, he climbed onto his bed and laid there for a while; hanging between the balance of asleep and far, far too awake.

It was the first time he had left the house in what felt like forever, other than school. He stood outside of his dad's door, hands trembling more than he would have liked to admit, waiting for him to answer the doorbell. It was a weird sort of anxiety. He had known his dad all his life, and yet there was a large event that had shaken up the foundation of what normal was. So he was nervous. And tired, still so tired. He wasn't sure if he was going to be able to get past the first 'hello'.

But when his dad opened the door, the first thing Jason saw were the bags under his eyes, the exhaustion in the crinkles of his face, how much he had aged since the funeral. It left a deep pit of fear in his stomach. And maybe it was the child-like innocence left in him, or maybe he recognized himself in his dad's face, but he vowed to help his dad in any way he could.

Which, really, wasn't his job. It was _supposed_ to be the other way around. But he had to make this dysfunctional family work in one way or another. (The irony wasn't lost on him; he was hardly functioning himself.)

It was a punch to the gut, though, when he walked inside and all of Whizzer's stuff was still there, the jacket still on it's hook and the racquetball equipment still leaning against the far wall next to the television, but Whizzer wasn't there, and it made the space feel infinitely more empty. Jason swallowed, and averted his eyes. Difficult, when everything around him was something of Whizzer's. Except the silence. Silence was never Whizzer's, he was always moving, or talking, or making general noises of disgust at his dad's fashion sense. Empty, empty, _empty_.

Jason attempted a smile at his dad. It came out resembling a grimace. "So, what are we going to do?"

His dad attempted a smile back. He looked tired. "Tv?"

"Okay."

The TV was turned on, a baseball game, but neither of them were paying attention. Jason tried to ignore the part of him that insisted he should say something. It wasn't working. "How... Are you doing?"

They both knew the answer to that one. "I'm holding up." It was a lie.

The silence was back. Jason didn't think he could stand another minute of it. "I'm... tired. I'm going to head to bed."

"Okay."

Jason walked towards the guest room, averting his eyes from the pictures of one smiling man who only reminded him of the dad-killer sickness, of hospital beds and white and fear. So he averted his eyes and continued on his way, clenching his still shaking hands at his sides, trying to ignore the feeling that he was failing his dad again.

It was a different kind of quiet in the guest room, the kind he liked. Nothing that reminded him of Whizzer, no one talking, no one insisting he play along with what their doing. Peaceful. Or, as peaceful as it got in those days. He sat down on the bed and frowned, staring at the beige wall. Boring. That's what it was. Boring.

So he resorted to an old hobby of his: snooping. Which, he quickly learned, was a mistake, as he picked up a framed photo. It was a picture of Whizzer in the hospital when he wasn't looking; frail and soft, unlike Whizzer most days. It was early on in his stay, Jason could tell, because he didn't look so... Well, dead. It hit him like a ton of bricks, brought him back to the agonizing hours spent in that hospital room, and all the waiting, and never any good results, and the paralyzing fear when he overheard that his dad could get the sickness too, and the death looming over the heads of everyone he knew.

Jason didn't realize he was crying until he felt a touch on the shoulder, jerking him to reality, to the salty taste of tears and stinging eyes and palms that hurt from his nails digging into them. He glanced down at the floor, where he had dropped the photo, and then up at his dad, who looked just as broken and tired as Jason was sure he looked. And after a few moments of hesitation, he wrapped his arms around his dad, gripping tightly as if it was the last time he would get to hold him. Maybe it was, with the dad-killer spreading so fast.

His dad reciprocated the hug, and they both sat on the guest bedroom floor, grieving over a man who lost out on his prime. A man who didn't deserve the terrible things he was served in life. They stayed like that for a few minutes, before Jason, in a shaky voice, interrupted the silence, "I- I miss him."

His dad exhaled a bit, just as shaky. "Me too, kiddo."

"When you... when it gets you too," Jason began, "You gotta get better, okay?"

"I'm not going to get sick like Whizzer did.

"Just- promise me. Please. I can't-" Jason's voice broke as he looked up at his dad, eyes wide and vulnerable. "I _can't_ do this again."

His dad nodded tiredly. Tired. They were both tired. "Okay, I'll get better just for you. Promise."

He lied.

**Author's Note:**

> rip Marvin. I hope you enjoyed the angst! This was more of a vent fic to get out some feelings before the new year really starts, so sorry if Jason seems too ooc. Comments are greatly appreciated! x


End file.
